


weekend friend

by Belmont



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belmont/pseuds/Belmont
Summary: Darling, what you waiting there for?I got you alone, but I don't want to go.





	weekend friend

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in Episode 4- assuming they kept in (a minor degree of) contact after Sal moved. I took pretty steep liberties with Travis, and this does have ample headcanon based material for both of them regarding history and appearance. It's pretty self indulgent too, but I feel like this ship deserves more attention!
> 
> I had to break this up into two parts because it's ridiculously longer than I'd planned.
> 
> There's LOTS of homophobic/generally offensive language in this reflective of the canon, so mind the tags and/or please don't read if that language would offend or upset you. Additional warnings; this contains canon-typical prescription drug use, dissociative hallucination, and graphic sexual content so read at your own discretion. 
> 
> This fic was not beta-read, but if someone would be willing to beta the second portion, please let me know.  
> -  
> Title and desc. blurb taken from the Goth Babe single 'Weekend Friend', which suits the theme of this fic very well (and is, actually, the tune Sal is playing on his guitar in /that/ one part!).

Deft fingers strummed at the guitar resting on his leg. Lidded eyes, clouded behind the mask of a face, stared forward at nothing. Sal was feeling okay- better than he’d been the past week or so. His step-brother was slated to move in next month with his current flatmates, his best friend was planning on making a visit pretty soon, and his dad was finally genuinely smiling again.  
  
Still, something wasn’t right.  
  
The park bench creaked under his meager weight when he let the guitar rest across the tops of his thighs. His true eye, peering straight ahead, watched the shape of the sun ebb and flow behind passing clouds.  
  
”I thought you left town awhile ago, faggot.”  
  
With a measured slowness, he turned to direct an empty stare squarely at Travis’s creased forehead. The kid got into some Catholic university with a great reputation, but he commuted pretty often back to the town for part-time work. Sal didn’t know what he did specifically, but he also couldn’t really be assed to care. Ironically, it was the blonde who asked to meet up here in the first place.  
  
”You’d think ‘faggot’ would’ve grown out of your vocabulary by now.” He retorted, shifting the instrument to free up room on the bench. “It’s been a minute, Travis. You look like you’re doing alright.”  
  
The blonde watched him for a long moment, caught between wanting to be snarky and wanting to be defensive, but he settled with sitting down an arms length away from the infamous Sally Face. “…I’ve been better. The law program at Providence is a fucking nightmare.” He rubbed at his eyes (pale powdery blue, bloodshot, but crystal clear), leaning forward and dropping his hands in his lap like they were fifty pound weights.  
  
“My dad is constantly telling me to come back here and forget about my degree, but I haven’t felt… _free_ since I moved into my dorm. It’s a blessing as much as a fucking curse.”  
  
Sal watched him in silence. His dead eye glazed and plasticine as it bore into the air in front of the blonde’s upturned nose. “That sounds pretty shitty,” At Travis’s scoff, he continued. “-if what you’re doing is making you happy though, that’s all that really matters.”  
  
”What are you, my _mother_?” The blue haired man shifted, squinting, before shrugging.  
  
“I’m just glad you’re headed to where you want to be, man. You deserve it.”  
  
The silence between them lasted for a few seconds; while Travis’s expression filtered between looking absolutely indignant to looking like a lost child that’d just found his parent in a supermarket. Sal moved the guitar to the side of his thigh, leaning over with one arm partly extended because he just had a feeling what was coming next.  
  
The blonde shoveled himself into the smaller man’s embrace almost instantaneously. He was crying, Sal thought, because the shoulder his nose was smashed into was starting to dampen and it sure as hell wasn’t raining. He just kind of held the other man, patting his back while Travis let himself emotionally unwind with someone who was effectively both a former victim of his and an unexpected confidant. The world was kind of fucked up like that, but such is life.  
  
With a wet sniffle, he slowly let go. One hand was tented over his eyes like the empty park was just filled with people waiting to see his masculinity crumble faster than a wall of old plaster. Sal’s hands lingered on the other’s elbows for a moment longer, making sure Travis’s full composure came back together before he released him.  
  
”Even when I’m there,” His voice was quiet, and somehow managed to keep an edge of anger to it. “-I’m so fucking lonely you can’t imagine.”  
  
”Believe it or not, I know exactly how that feels.”  
  
A hard exhale, and for a second Sal thought Travis might try to hit him. Instead, he just glared at the holes in his mask like they were personally offensive. “ _Fuck you_ , Sally Face. We all have _problems_.”  
  
”Yours aren’t particularly special.” He let himself rest against the hard planks of the bench, fingers straying back to the neck of his guitar. “Everyone has the _thing_ they deal with. Eventually, something’s gotta give.”  
  
The older of the two seemed to agree with the statement, but said nothing. His face looked like he’d chomped on a particularly sour lemon- thick bangs failing to obscure his gleaming eyes as they narrowed in on the instrument Sal was currently fondling.  
  
”Do you actually _play_ that, or do you just strum chords like an asshole _hipster_?” That upturned nose look returned, evacuating all the pitiful sorrow from Travis’s previously drawn face. “Weren’t you and that other queer into metal?”  
  
”Larry? He’s a metal head.” Hoisting up the guitar, he settled it across his thighs again and played the intro to Seven Nation Army. Not quite the right sound- he didn’t play bass nor have the money for a semi-acoustic, but the blonde got the jist. Music was a pretty good emotional mediator, sometimes.  
  
”The White Stripes… You’re an alt-rock fan?” Those wet baby blues met the deep indigo of Sal’s true one.  
  
”I like a lot of genres. Metal, rock, ska, even some electronic shit.” Absently, he wormed a finger under the strap of his mask to scratch at his temple. “Not good to limit your creativity, and all that.”  
  
They sat there for about half an hour, exchanging quips and looking wholly out of place against the placid blue orange and green of the darkening autumnal park. Travis, buried in his Providence Uni. pullover, watched Sal’s fingers dance across the guitar strings along to a song he didn’t know. It was rhythmic, something kind of like surf rock, making him ache for a coastline he hadn’t seen since his mother was still in the picture.  
  
Warm images of Cape Cod sand and sweet sunlight vanished when Sal’s fingers stopped. They flexed in and out of a fist, working blood through them despite the chill in the dusk air. Sal mentally swore at himself for not bringing a jacket, because this weather wasn’t as forgiving in the fall as it was in the spring (it was better in Jersey, anyway).  
  
”What are you doing after this?” That caught the blue haired man off guard, and he rolled his shoulders awkwardly. “I’m… going home, going to sleep. Not too much, honestly.”  
  
”Can I go with you?”  
  
Sal gave him a weird look, even from behind the mask. Travis felt every knot in his stomach double, with an urge to vomit cresting in his esophagus. It wasn’t too late to play the question off as a joke, but before he could open his mouth the other man was bobbing his head. “Sure.”  
  
”… _What_?”  
  
”I said, sure.” Eyelids fluttered when Sal stood, pulling the guitar’s strap over his shoulder like a cross body bag. “My flatmates aren’t home, so you can eat over if you want. I don’t mind company.”  
  
The walk to said flat was maybe the most awkward, silent 30 minutes of Travis’s entire life. Excluding the walk back to class after that one bathroom incident that also coincidentally involved Sally Face. It was almost like this kid was some kind of curse, inflicted on him for being a failure to his stick-in-ass dad.  
  
The flat itself was clean, pleasantly arranged. One wall sported a pride flag among various framed academic awards from some University engineering program, which was semi-infuriating to him. He bit back a comment about the ‘flatmates’ Sal mentioned in favor of sitting at the kitchen table while the other rifled through a cabinet. “Do you drink coffee? Or tea?”  
  
”…What, no booze?” His back straightened, and a glower dented his features when Sal let the box of tea flop onto the counter. Long fingers spun the dials of the stovetop on to low heat.  
  
”You shouldn’t drink and walk home. Are you staying overnight?” The bastard wasn’t facing him, so he was at a loss as to what those dark eyes might be expressing. Was that a _joke_? Was this _bait_? Travis’s veins pulsed at his temples.  
  
”Is that a fucking **_offer_** , Sally Face?”  
  
His head craned at the aggression in the other’s voice, but Sal’s composure remained locked tight. He wasn’t one to mince his words, after all, and in the end he’d always known who that letter had been intended for when he’d found it in the highschool bathroom. Maybe it was coincidence, but Travis seemed to still be interested all these years later. Funny enough, he’d wanted to reconnect at a time when Sal wanted nothing more than to get his mind off this bizarre feeling of… impending _doom_ , frankly.  
  
Lucky, or not. That remained to be seen. “I’m asking if you’re planning on staying over.” He settled for brewing the tea- he wasn’t partial to tea **or** coffee, but it was more for the sake of keeping himself busy. Travis was making him just _slightly_ off-kilter, what with the pure poison look trying to drill holes in the back of his neck. “You’re welcome to crash on the couch if you’d rather not head home.”  
  
”What if I wanted to crash in your bedroom, asshole?”  
  
”It’s a twin bed, so _I’d_ probably be on the couch.” A hiss from the blonde, who kicked himself up from the table with a growl. “Don’t play around with me, Sally Face, not after everything I went through.”  
  
”I’m not sure what you mean.” But fingers were digging into his hair, forcing him to face the grimace painted on Travis’s features.  
  
For a very brief second, Sal saw red.  
  
The grip on his hair became loose; a weight resting on the straps of his mask indicating Travis wanted to see what was underneath. He still looked harsh, but at least his eyes looked sadly genuine. Without saying it, they were screaming _If you dip out now, I’ll understand._     
  
In a rare instance of true pity, Sal decided it was fine to show him. In all honesty, the degree to which his face had been mutilated would likely scare this child of privilege and pain right back out the door. Nobody (er, very _few_ bodies) wanted to have sex with someone who facially looked like they’d been run through a meat grinder and paper shredder at once.  
  
When the heavy weight of his protection from the cruelty of the world fell away, he watched Travis flinch back and stare. First, the other man took in the visage before him with a look of typical disgust, but as he stared, his expression became something vaguely resembling… _awe_.  
  
”You aren’t _that_ fucked up.” He seemed surprised when Sal let him pet the thick keloidal scars on one of his cheeks with his thumb. Those weird, mismatched eyes closed; Travis took the moment to cup his other hand around the slightly narrower scar on the opposite cheek. They looked like… massive claw marks, almost? Why did they look like _claw marks_?  
  
Half his lip was torn away, but the half that remained was chapped and pale. The tip of his nose seemed to have been sliced clean off, leaving a stunted lump of flesh on a gnarled protrusion of bone- coated in scar tissue. Only one eye had eyelashes- only one eye had an eyebrow. The artificial eye in the opposite socket was seated in reconstructed flesh- said flesh was discolored and sat wrongly on the bones of Sal’s skull. Still, none of this took away from **him**. In some sick, sad, fucked up way, he was still … beautiful was not the right word, but something pretty close.    
  
The soft press of Travis’s lips weren’t enough to get Sal to open his eyes. He kept them firmly closed, feeling a tongue poke at the bit of lip he still had left.  
  
Okay, so now they were making out. This was fine.  
  
His hand knocked against the mugs he’d been waiting to cool while he tried (vainly) to stabilize himself on the edge of the countertop. Travis’s hands were still on his cheeks, not really holding his head in place as much as they were feeling the scars, feeling the piercings in his ears, feeling the soft hair on the nape of his neck. That tongue pressed against his palate, tasting his molars, and he was painfully aware that his reciprocating remained devoid of any enthusiasm.  
  
Was Travis a virgin? Was this his first time with another man? Sal pressed a hand against the blonde’s chest, separating them gently. Travis’s sad sigh, somehow, answered everything he needed to know.  
  
”You didn’t… was I--… It was too much, wasn’t it? _Fuck_.”    
  
”You’re fine.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, blinking down at the two steaming mugs, and his upturned mask resting alongside them.  
  
”Do you want tea?” Given an incredulous look, he poured the two mugs out in the sink and skirted around Travis’s body, grabbing for his mask and guitar before heading toward the basement steps. “I have a mini fridge downstairs, c’mon.”  
  
He didn’t drink. Not after his dad shook the habit years ago- and the rare beer he did nurse was always with Larry or Ash; the only two he really trusted. Otherwise, it felt too much like a toss in the well that could end up with a nasty addiction.  
  
Boredom bred habit-- or something like that.  
  
Almost all the beer he stashed was meant for Larry anyway, and Travis didn’t seem like a drinker. He went for the same .5% alcoholic soda that Sal usually always chose. The stuff that Ash jokingly liked to mention was for kids and girls.  
  
They sat on the twin mattress, both staring forward shoulder-to-shoulder. His mask hung on the neck of his guitar, now resting neatly in its stand. It was a weird feeling, being separate from his face, but at the same time he figured being metaphorically naked was fitting.  
  
Travis’s hand casually rested on his thigh, and for whatever reason he wanted to laugh. He was 23, and certainly no virginal innocent. Why did this feel like a high school hookup? Yikes.  
  
Time to fix that.  
  
The second kiss was harder, more violent because _Sal_ initiated it. His teeth clicked against the perfect white row behind Travis’s lips, when the other opened his mouth, the tongue that forced its way inside was devoid of gentleness.  
  
Half of him wished he kept his tongue piercing, but the noise the blonde made when the other bit wetly into him was still pretty fucking good without it.  
  
It was easy to push them both over into the mattress, with the blue haired man straddling the son of a minister down and making a mess of his neck and collar bone. All nips and presses of teeth into warm brown skin; Sal looked like a fucking ghost against this body.    
  
” _Wait_ —n-nothing my roommate can see, okay? I don’t want to have to explain—“ But Sal knew the drill already. No hickeys in obvious spots, god forbid someone think the immaculate Phelps had a sexual encounter.  
  
Working the sweatshirt and tee shirt off the blonde, the smaller man was given pause seeing the catholic cross tattooed underneath the older of the two’s left pectoral. “I never took you for the ink type.” One blunt, blue painted nail traced the shape of the small piece curiously. Travis grunted when the finger was replaced with a wet tongue. “A guy in my frat was doing hand poked shit… so I let him give me one. Stupid asshole made it bigger than I told him to. I took out three of his fucking teeth, the dumb bitch. He’s too scared to show up to the frat house now when he knows I’ll be there.”  
  
”Good way to make friends.” Sudden force yanked at his hair, pulling him up from the rosy nipple he’d been licking into perkiness.  
  
”Aren’t you gonna take your clothes off, jackass?”  
  
Picking up cues that Sal wasn’t really the slowfuck type, Travis tried to match the same degree of _rough_ once the other stripped down and came back onto the mattress in only boxers.  
  
Except-- the notorious Sally Face was _small_ , narrow and sickly pale. The word fragile briefly came to mind, especially when Travis’s fingers practically met when they snuck around the other’s waist.  
  
He also was decorated in tattoos himself- all esoteric shit that looked like it came off some kind of occult fiction cover or horror comic book. The artwork was concentrated mostly on one of his hips, lower back, and into the meat of his shoulder blade. “You like wolves?” Travis tried to make the words sound mean, but he was genuinely intrigued with the way Sal practically moaned when his nails dug into the ink-ladden skin. The bowing curve of his spine sent a shock of desire directly between the blonde’s legs.  
  
”I **hate** dogs, I can’t stand them, or wolves.” His breath sounded labored, and Travis crushed their mouths together for a long minute. “Mph, then you shouldn’t have them all over your back, dumbass.”  
  
A hand snuck into the back of the blue haired man’s boxers, groping his ass while Travis pressed laving kisses to the column of Sal’s throat. He was a quick learner, because this was actually starting to feel pretty alright.  
  
”We can’t yet,” The warm hands trying to pull down his boxers paused, leaving the blonde to fire a glare of frustration into Sal’s good eye. “We need lube, even for just fingers.”  
  
”Then _get_ it, jesus.” But the other just kind of pursed his lip and sat there, tilting his head to the side so those electric blue strands fell in his mismatched eyes. Travis tried to lean forward for a kiss, but Sal sat back on his hands.  
  
”I won’t get you _anything_ with that attitude.” A few teeth flashed from under gnarled, grafted skin. “Ask nicely. I’m giving you something special, so you should be grateful.”  
  
A little huffing and puffing, but oddly enough the other seemed to cave pretty quickly under the gentle pressure of Sal’s scrutiny. ”Can you get it, _please_? I want … _I want you_.”  
  
If he could still blush, he probably would’ve gone a little red then. Instead, he just felt the skin of his face warm uncomfortably, thankful that the curtain of blue hid the discoloration while he fished in the storage bin under his bed for the few intimate items he’d procured in quests to satiate curiosity over the years. 

  
A black glossy bottle rolled onto the sheets, snatched up by Travis’s eager hands while Sal dug around a bit more in the container. He definitely had condoms in here even if it’d been awhile since…  
  
Anyway, he’d snatched the box up and tossed two of the little packets out onto the bed as well. When blue eyes narrowed, he pat Travis’s (still clothed) calf. “We can’t _not_ use them. You should take these off though.”  
  
They were both reduced to boxers, kissing lazily when Sal’s fingers closed around the tent at the front of the blonde’s groin. The jerk of hips below him was almost violent, like this dude was waiting way too long to get laid. Hard to imagine he’d be someone’s sexual fantasy, but Sal could easily say he’d been in weirder situations than rubbing his former tormentor’s dick through his undies while throat fucking the dude with his tongue.  
  
Pulling back for air, he glanced between them at what exactly was pressed into his palm- that was a sizable bulge, honestly, and it wasn’t going to be easy to get inside him since the last time he’d done anything like this had been months ago. “Lay down,” When Travis grunted a ‘ _what_?’, he made a gesture toward the head of the bed. “You’ll see, just lay down.”  
  
Straddling Travis the opposite way, with his face inches from the other’s erection, he gently tugged the front opening of the other’s boxers apart to let the glands of his dick poke free.  
  
This was like, at _least_ 8 inches. There was no way the whole thing would fit in his mouth.  
  
He settled for sucking the head softly, kind of tentative because he could feel Travis’s fingers on his own half-hard dick, trying to coax it into being fully erect from the awkward angle. One of his fingers was also pressing along the crease of his ass through his boxers; ghosting over his hole and making his hips reflexively twitch backwards.  
  
It really _had_ been awhile, Sal lamented, flicking his tongue into the wet slit. The cock in his hand throbbed, and he gave it a little rub with the palm of one hand to get it fully free from its fabric binds.  
  
In that moment, his boxers were yanked down his thighs and a wet finger was suddenly trying to open him up. It wasn’t lube, either; it felt more like the viscosity of saliva--  
  
Then, something soft and warm was pressed up against his hole. Fucking shit, this dude was giving him oral.  
  
Not about to look a (okay, probably _not_ a virgin if he was up for this) gift horse in the mouth, Sal braced himself and inhaled deep, trying to keep his arms from shaking while the tongue against his ass started to fuck into him. His own mouth tried to deliver something equally pleasant on Travis’s twitching cock, but only a few inches fit past his lips at a time, so he went back to licking and rubbing along the length- fingers following the shape of the pronounced veins under the ruddy skin until a steady buildup of pre gathered and spilled down the tip.  
  
”Nghh-“ The noise vibrated into the flesh of his thigh, and he could feel the blonde’s breathing dampening his skin when he’d pulled out of the other’s body. “I can’t, I’ll cum if you…” Drawing back, Sal blinked over his shoulder and licked his lip clean. With a cheeky squeeze to the other’s almost painfully tightened balls, he shifted up and away, kicking his legs over the side of the mattress to find that little black bottle.  
  
Hands fumbled for his waist, a forehead pressed against his tattooed shoulder. He was pouring a generous amount of the clear gel into his palm when Travis _squeezed_ his pecs like they were tits, and pulled at the little dark peaks of his nipples. When did his fucking hands start shaking again?  
  
”Are you gonna sit on my lap?” Sal’s breath caught in his throat, because the blonde was just sounding _incredibly_ confident with his lips forming a wicked smile against cool pale skin. “You’ll look so fucking good bouncing on my dick like a little whore, Fisher.”  
  
The cap on the bottle snapped closed. Sal let it slip from his hand and plop on the carpeted floor. A remark danced behind his teeth, _you were the one who was eating my ass like a whore two seconds ago, **Phelps** ,_ but he let the comment slide in favor of facing the other man with a tired smirk and a condom between his fingers. That thick cock twitched under the cool application of gel, but it would only be able to get inside if it was doused in lube. His own dick throbbed in anticipation of the idea. Yeah, no way did he have a size kink, but this even _looked_ like it was going to hit him in all the right places.  
  
He settled into Travis’s lap, the blonde’s legs sprawled in front of him while Sal’s knees pressed on either side of his hips. Slow to initiate things, pressing the head against his asshole tentatively before pulling the other in for a kiss and working the tip of the cock inside his body.  
  
Each little inch was almost painfully tight, Travis realized, but it felt better than anything he could’ve ever dreamt of. His dick was spearing the blue haired bitch of his highschool fantasies- flushed a powdery pink everywhere besides his mauled face, eyes closed tight and expression twisted into a mix of concentration and pain. The cock between his thighs flagged, softening from the ache of being penetrated, but the blonde raked his fingers through thick black pubes (so his blue hair _was_ dyed? weird) and jerked the little thing off until it got hard again. Sal whimpered, making a breathy sound of approval before finally getting the last inch up into his body and settling into stillness. Relaxing was going to make this so much easier.  
  
So, then, why the fuck was he still on edge?  
  
Lacking for patience, the blonde coiled both arms around the smaller body and pulled Sal into his chest. He was more muscular, and unfortunately that strength translated into a painfully easy pin; his hips began a rough rhythmless piston into that sweet warm vice. The only thing taking away from the pure pleasure of the situation was the pinch of teeth sinking into his collarbone.  
  
” _Holy shit_ — why did you fucking **_bite_** me? **_What’s wrong with you_**?” He could see flecks of blood on Sal’s lip, the pretty deep blue of his true eye was drowned in a dilated pupil, making a strange contrast with the permanently contracted pupil of the prosthetic. “It started to hurt. I wanted you to slow down.”  
  
”Just say that then, _christ_. Don’t be a dumb little slut and bite me.” Though he was lapping guiltily at the wound he’d made, and it was actually somehow still turning the blonde on. “You want me to be gentle with you, like you’re a needy bitch?”  
  
The words came with a slower roll of his hips, leaving the blue haired man breathless. “You like that shit? C’mon, tell me what you want.” Another roll, and Travis could’ve sworn he saw the tip of his dick bulge the subtle curve of the smaller man’s lower belly.  
  
Like a _fucking wet dream._  
  
”Just like that,” Blue strands caught on the corner of his just slightly opened mouth (the little smear of blood remained, too, looking almost like _lipstick_ ), hair mused in bright waves over the shallow slopes of his shoulders. It was sex with a neon skeleton, but a pretty one with an incredibly accommodating personality and ass tight as all hell. Was god finally giving him a break? That had to have been it. “-keep on like that… and you’ll feel when you can go harder.”  
  
His face pressed up into the juncture between Sal’s chin and collar, breathing him in with each shallow twitch of his hips. Patchouli, wet leaves, resin, sweat- whatever Sally Face was made out of was intoxicating. “… _Huh_ … feel _what_?... _Khh_ … you _feel so good_ …”  
  
Somehow, it felt like the smaller man’s body tightened further around him. Sal was shifting, angling himself slightly backwards to try to get more comfortable with his own subtle hip motions; there was one place he was trying to feel for, and the head of Travis’s cock just barely managed to nudge his prostate enough with the rough thrusts to really get him close to orgasm.  
  
The two of them slowed, the blonde barely moving while his partner squirmed until he choked out a moan. The ring of muscle clamped, contracting in pleasure, and Travis buried his face into thick blue hair to fight the urge to fuck up into Sal’s body like an animal. He licked the shell of his ear, biting the studs gently, letting the other grind his hips down onto his cock in just the right spot.  
  
Moaning diffused into quiet whimpering, and even that became nothing more than shallow breathing- he stopped bouncing for a long moment just to work his hips so the cockhead was pressing right up into his sweet spot, thighs shaking, before finally slipping down onto Travis up to the hilt and granting his body a silent release between them.   
  
A second later, he could feel the joints in the blonde lock up while he spilled into the condom. It would’ve been nice to feel that warmth bloom in his belly, but something vaguely urged Sal to remember this was _Travis Fucking Phelps_ inside him. Not someone you wanted to get terribly intimate with often- nor someone you really wanted to have the fuzzies about. Guilty of fantasizing about someone else? Yeah, maybe.   
  
Tuning back in to reality, he took in the state of the man pressed tight against him with a whispery sigh.  
  
Running his fingers through ashen blonde hair, he just sort of let the other man breathe against his chest- curled against his body and holding onto him like he was afraid Sal would suddenly up and disappear-- this whole thing would end up having been a literal dream.  
  
”Are you okay?” His voice was tired, quiet against Travis’s ear. “Do you need anything, or can we lay down?” When the clear blue eyes searched his face, they slowly seemed to re-adjust to the darkness of the room, and to the situation itself.  
  
”Yeah, I’m… good.” _Great_ , even. He didn’t seem disgusted by the cum on his stomach, nor did he really seem interested in pulling out- even though Sal could feel him getting soft. The medium guided the blonde down into the mused black bed sheets, opting to lay atop him and draw the comforter over their bodies.  
The sound of a slow, rhythmic heartbeat tempted him into the coils of sleep. Whatever cologne this guy wore was mingling with the sweat between them. For some reason, it all smelled like… the beach in the middle of the summer. Late Sunday afternoons on the Jersey boardwalk, salt air, and the click of long board wheels over the wooden planks leading to the seashore. Why was it reminding him so much of home?  
  
Travis smoothed a hand down his back, feeling every knot in his spine and lingering in the shallow scars that never quite healed along his lower right side. Some from little accidents, falling on rocks as a kid, taking a spill on his skateboard against the curb—

  
**_being mauled by the wet, ravenous fangs of an uncontrollable animal_** _._ **The scrape of rubble and dirt while he scrabbled away like some kind of rodent fighting against the jaws of an indomitable predator, screaming and crying for his mother, for anyone, when the dog doubled back and bit into the soft flesh of his--**  
  
”Hey,” Crystals in the darkness. Travis was looking down at him with a mildly perturbed expression. “-you’re shaking. What’s up with you?”  
  
”…” The body that’d been so peaceful seemed fitful all of a sudden. “I think I just forgot to take my medication.” No, he didn’t, but he could use something in his system right now to stop his mind from racing in a downward spiral.  
  
Separating carefully from him and pulling the comforter back over the shaking body, long tan legs swung over the bedside. “…Which one do you need? I’ll bring you the bottle.” Travis located the dresser top with Sal’s myriad pills in the darkness and shifted up off the bed over to it.  
  
Almost fifteen different little orange cylinders sat on the dresser. Lord have _mercy_ , Travis thought, but then looked back to the quivering mass of blankets- the mismatched eyes blinking at him miserably from the bed. “On the far left, the bottle that says Clozapine.”  
  
The respective bottle was delivered into Sal’s hands. He checked it over, unscrewing the top and taking one of the tablets dry. The other just kind of sat on the mattress and watched him, petting some of the hair out of his face and taking the bottle back when it was offered without comment. “Sorry.” Then after he’d replaced it with the rest and returned to Sal’s side, “Thank you.”  
  
His voice suddenly returned to him. ”Don’t be sorry, asshole. You can’t control that crap.”  
  
Silence returned to the bedroom gradually, but between the shaky breathing of Sal (who was just starting to feel the muscles in his body relax, one by one) and the deep inhales and exhales of a very awake Travis, it seemed almost like they were being urged to do _something_ together. Sleep was for the weak, as Larry always reminded him.  
  
His true eye focused on the alarm clock by his bedside. It flashed 3:21 AM, temporarily searing the numbers into the space behind his eyelids.  
”Feeling alright?” A hand gently smoothed behind his hair, scratching the back of his neck. The fuck, was he a cat? “Fisher?”  
  
”I’m alright.” He nudged his face into the warm expanse of the other’s chest when Travis rolled to face him. The simple design of the cross, inked in a deep, rich black, was almost offensive against the near flawless skin it marred. At the same time, despite it all, it seemed fitting for the minister’s only son.  
  
”Can I kiss you?” When Sal smirked, he felt the hand on his neck clamp down. “The fuck is funny, shithead? I’m serious.”  
  
”You didn’t ask before.” But he was scooting up to press his mouth to the underside of the blonde’s chin. The scars, he knew, would feel alien against the perfect curve of the others throat- the idea had Sal grinning.  
  
“What would change in 30 minutes? Three hours?” When the other responded to the open-mouth kisses with a little groan, he murmured. “Days, weeks, what would change, Phelps?”  
  
Sucking just enough to make Travis paranoid of hickeys, he left a few wet kisses on the soft brown skin. Nails bit into his scalp, encouraging him lower rather than pulling him away. He _could_ be into topping, but considering the short duration between his medication and the rising sun, he decided that kind of thing would wait until his body was more willing to agree with him. Taking dick didn’t involve much more than laying in bed and holding your thighs apart, which sounded… pretty good again, in all honesty. Maybe another round would tire them both out, too.  
  
Pulling the sheets aside, the bounce of a swollen cock into his view caused a sheepish smile to dimple his good cheek. Travis pressed a hand to the back of his mouth to stifle a guttural sound of pleasure (maybe a little guilt too, but it was hard _not_ to get horny when the blue bastard was treating him like this) while the mouth enveloped him again. One of Sal’s hands was firmly planted on the tight muscles of his lower stomach while the other was obscured behind messy hair, and the blonde could _feel_ the fingers massaging into the veins of his dick. Misshapen lips pursed over the slickened glands, followed by a long swipe of tongue. He wanted to _watch_. Fuck.  
  
Where did this kid learn how to give good head, anyway? A sharp lance of possessiveness suddenly washed through him, and he gripped a fistful of blue hair to pull the other man wetly off him.  
  
”Face down, or up?”  
  
Slowly, Sal blinked at the question. A little droplet of precum rolled down his chin. “What do you mean?” It took an unfair amount of restraint from declaring some kind of love for this man just then, and Travis made good on muting the feeling by knocking their foreheads together and licking Sal’s mouth clean. Somewhere, god was dry heaving.  
  
”Do you want me to hold you face down and fuck you into the mattress?” This time, he couldn’t hide the discoloration of heat in his cheeks behind his hair. Travis’s hands held him steady in place, eye-to-eye. “Or do you want me to watch your face while I fuck you apart, on your back like a whore?”  
  
”I,“ He almost looked like he wanted to cry, or maybe he was so taken aback that the disconnect between his expression and his desire (was it even desire? He wasn’t usually into this kind of thing until now--) was making it hard for him to put things together.  
  
“-whatever you want to do to me, I’ll take it.”


End file.
